Harry Potter and the Zombie Apocalypse
by Yasona Black
Summary: In the summer after Harry's fifth year, Dudley Dursley, Harry Potter, and Severus Snape are thrown together after zombies attack Privet Drive.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: This story contains (canon) Dursley abuse (possibly slightly exaggerated depending on your take of the book), issues with food, and obviously zombies and what goes with them. The plan is for the story to be about 50K, with an update once a week (if all goes well). This is an adventure/hurt/comfort/horror fic. It's also gen. No pairings. Constructive Criticism is especially loved.

**Harry Potter and the Zombie Apocalypse  
><strong>Chapter One

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><p>Dudley looked longingly at the slice of triple chocolate cake that sat on the counter. The luscious scent seemingly beckoned him closer and closer. His mother stood at the stove cooking some sort of foul smelling stew. Although he had lost some weight due to his diet and boxing, everyone still said it wasn't good enough. He didn't know how much he had to lose to be <em>good<em> enough, but it was as if nothing that he did would make the rest of the weight go away. Why shouldn't he indulge in the piece of heavenly chocolate cake? It was just cake. Just food. Really good food. He was going to eat his vegetable stew, well, choke it down the best he could, so surely one piece wouldn't hurt? And after all, it did look as if the piece had been left for him. Probably from his father. His dad had railed against the diet from the very beginning; being thin was for pansies and freaks like Harry.

Dudley leaned back on his foot to peer into the living room. His father couldn't see him from where he was; he was just sitting on the couch staring lifelessly at the telly with a beer held carelessly in his hand. There seemed to be something particularly _off_ about his father today, but he wasn't certain what. As he usually did, he shoved it out of his mind and pretended that all was fine. Making sure his aunt was still heavily focused on the stew; he picked up the piece of cake and crammed it into his mouth.

All was fine. His parents didn't stir in the slightest. He licked the chocolate frosting off his fingers. Dudley held his breath as he slowly edged his way to the sink. Lowering the plate quietly into the sink, he noticed that his mother hadn't moved at all apart from the rhythmic cutting of the carrots. Her hands were the only part of her body that moved. Her hands kept chopping the carrots, even though there was more than plenty already chopped up.

"Are we having guests for supper?" Dudley asked.

His mother's only answer was to continue chopping the carrots.

"Mum?" Dudley asked.

Nothing. There wasn't even the slightest tilt of her head to acknowledge that she had heard her only son.

Backing slowly out of the kitchen, Dudley tried to rationalize his mother's lack of response. Perhaps she was just busy. Her mind was somewhere else. Obviously, her mind was somewhere else. Dudley laughed to himself. He trudged into the living room and passed his father who didn't even bother with even the smallest grunt of acknowledgment. It was strange. His father used to dote on him hand and foot when he was younger, but over the last couple years he had grown somewhat estranged. Not that Dudley minded of course. After all, he was already sixteen going on seventeen; he certainly didn't need an overbearing father. Still, the fact that his freak of a cousin got far more attention between the two of them during their shared summer holidays was something he'd never forgive his cousin for. Dudley glared angrily at his father, knowing that if it did bother him, he would attribute to him being a growing teenager. He would call it normal. Everything was normal. Everything had to be normal.

He was nothing special. He didn't want to be a freak, but he didn't want to just be an average son to his father. Cake. Suddenly, he wanted more cake. No. This was more than a want. This was a _need_. He _needed_ the cake to feel good about himself. Everything was better with cake.

Dudley inched his way back into the kitchen, padding as softly as he could and cursing the fact that he didn't have the same ability as his cousin to sneak around to get food. Still, it seemed as if his mother was chopping carrots as if her life depended on it and was too busy to acknowledge her son sneaking more cake. After cutting a new piece out, he debated about getting a plate. A plate would make it more difficult to hide the cake, but his father wouldn't really care that he wasn't sticking to his diet. Would he? After an internal and somewhat lengthy debate, Dudley grabbed a porcelain plate and slid the piece of chocolate cake onto it. He closed the refrigerator door and was careful not to glance at his mother. There was nothing weird going on here. Not at all.

When Dudley walked back through the living room, he displayed the plate proudly, the giant hunk of cake sat prominently in the middle of the large dinner plate. His father didn't make a single remark. Dudley was sure that his father had seen him with the cake. There was no doubt in his mind. His father hadn't said anything. Not one single thing. Not one bloody thing. He didn't care. He didn't care at all about his son.

With a loud huff, Dudley ran up the stairs, slamming each leg heavily on every stair. No one yelled. No one said anything. No one even laughed. Once in his room, Dudley slammed his plate down on his computer desk. He picked up his Game boy and fiddled with it for a few minutes. His dad had given that to him a couple years ago after he blamed Harry for destroying his old one. He chucked it at the wall. That felt good. He grabbed some of the games and threw them at the wall as well. Soon he was chucking item after item at the wall. His eyes burned and he bit hard on his lip to keep from screaming. He wanted to smash everything, to destroy _everything_. If he destroyed everything, his parents, his_ father_ would have to buy him new ones. He could blame it all on Harry.

Harry. That was a brilliant idea. Dudley smiled to himself, grabbed his chocolate cake, and headed to what used to be his second bedroom. With a vicious grin, he knocked on the door, knowing full well that his freak cousin couldn't open the door. He'd been locked in for almost twenty-four hours now.

"What do you want, Dudley?" Potter's voice came through the door.

"How did you know it was me?"

Dudley could almost feel Potter roll his eyes at him.

"You're parents don't knock."

"Oh," he said. Not wanting to be outdone, he said quickly, "Hey Potter! Guess what I got!"

"What?" It was a dull and unenthusiastic reply.

"Cake."

His cousin didn't respond.

"Chocolate cake," Dudley said. "Triple chocolate cake." Failing to activate a response, Dudley continued. "Triple chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and brownie fudge filling. It's a heavenly delight. Aren't you jealous, Potter?"

"Go away, Dudley." His voice seemed oddly muffled even for being through the door.

"Aren't you hungry? I know Mum and Dad haven't fed you since they locked you in here. Considering they're making dinner tonight, I don't think you're getting out today."

No response. Dudley lifted a piece of cake to his mouth and swallowed it. Strange. It didn't taste as good as it usually did. And it certainly didn't feel that nagging hole. He hated that stupid hole. The idiot counselor he had been set up with had always brought it up during their sessions. The sandy-haired asshole, Mark or Marcus something or other, insisted that the hole would not be filled with food. It worked before. It could work again.

He shoveled another piece into his mouth.

"Harry," he drawled it out in false concern. "I know what today is."

"Congratulations, you've learned how to use a calendar." Harry's voice was cutting and sarcastic.

"It's your birthday. And do you have cake on your birthday? Nope. But I do." Dudley beamed. "You know why? Because I don't do freaky things like you. So I get cake, and not just any cake, but the _best_ kind of cake on _your_ birthday."

Again there was no response. What was with everyone today? Did no one want to talk to him or pay attention to him today?

Irritably he said, "Well it's my cake. And you don't have any. And you're probably starving so too bad for you." He stormed away from Harry's door and back into his own room. That was probably one of the worst retorts to his freak cousin he had ever come up with. He vowed to come up with something better later. Maybe a crack about his parents or that freak school of his. In the meantime, he waited for his parents to call him down for dinner.

And he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But no one ever called him down. He distracted himself with his Nintendo and munching on the various snack foods he had hidden around his room. When he realized that it was 9PM at night, and he still hadn't had a real supper, he decided to go back downstairs. It was one of the last things he wanted to do. His parents had been…odd…and he had decided to just wait until they became normal again before dealing with them, but he was also getting a bit worried.

He crouched down the stairs, his right hand gripped firmly on the railing. When he came down into the living room he saw that his father had not moved from his spot. Not an inch. The same untouched beer was in his hand, and the telly was even on the same exact nature channel. His father didn't even _like_ the nature channels. Gulping, Dudley headed into the kitchen. He was relieved when he saw that his mother wasn't chopping anymore carrots. She still stood in the same spot over the stove, the stew was on a burner, but the stove hadn't been turned on. The pile of chopped carrots sat untouched. But his mother's hand still moved as if it were chopping the carrots, but there was not a thing on the cutting board.

Dudley tried to say 'Mum' but he couldn't choke out the word. He backed away slowly and tore through the living room and back up the stairs. He hammered on his cousin's door. "Harry!" he whispered urgently. "Harry!"

"What, Dudley?" came Harry's incredulous voice. "Come to gloat about your precious cake?"

"What did you do to my parents?" Dudley demanded.

There was a heavy pause.

"What do you mean, Dudley? What's wrong with them?"

That was odd too. His cousin sounded fearful. Why would his cousin be afraid? "They're not acting right. They're not moving, but they are, and it's all freaky. What. Did. You. Do."

"Shit."

"Fix them! Put them back!"

"Dudley, I didn't do it, but you _need_ to get me out of here so I can help."

"But I don't know how!"

"Do you know where your dad keeps the keys?"

"He hides them even from me."

Dudley heard Harry swear.

"What about the cupboard? Is it locked too?"

Dudley nodded miserably.

"Dudley!"

"Oh, I mean yes, it's locked."

He heard Harry sigh and throw something around in the room. Before he heard Harry's voice again, he thought he heard him take a deep breath. "Dudley, listen to me, this is important. Don't go back downstairs under any circumstances. Stay away from your parents. Do not touch them or interact with them, in fact, stay here. Hedwig is supposed to be back tomorrow and I can owl, er, send a letter for help."

Dudley clenched his fists. "It's really not you, is it?"

"I wish it was, Dudley. I really wish it was."

Dudley slid down the wall and leaned his head next to the heavily locked door. He curled his legs up to his chest and hugged his arms around them.

"Harry?" Dudley began.

"What?" Harry asked softly.

"Are we…Am I…?" he couldn't voice the words.

"We just have to wait right now, Dudley."

The words weren't comforting. They both knew that.

"Harry," Dudley began again.

"Yeah?"

"Will my parents be okay?"

"I don't know, Dudley. I don't know."

Why on earth had he expected his cousin to give him comfort, he didn't know. Tiredly, he closed his eyes and began to fall asleep on the floor. The house was quieter than it had ever been. He never heard anyone come up the stairs. He never heard his father's loud snores or his mother's bathroom routine. His sleep was fitful and he was finally realizing what he had been denying all afternoon. There was something very wrong at Number Four Privet Drive.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Apologies for this being a week late.

**Harry Potter and the Zombie Apocalypse  
>Chapter Two<strong>

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><p>Privet Drive, Surrey had never been considered a loud or disruptive neighborhood. In fact, it was considered a rather quiet neighborhood where nothing out of the ordinary ever seemed to happen. To the majority of teenagers, Privet Drive was considered downright boring. It was a dull and eventless sort of town, where the most activity took place during bake sales and yard sales. New neighbors, even the ones who had been moved in for a year or so, were a common source of whispered gossip. Vandalism was all considered the part of the dangerous Potter boy of the Dursleys, as was the bullying that went on, that is, unless you were the victim.<p>

So Privet Drive, if you weren't being bullied or vandalized or hoodwinked, was a generally quiet place. But this night was different. Apart from the ordinary sounds of crickets and birds, Privet Drive was hushed. There were no frantic whisperings or vandals running through the night. There were no teenagers blasting their music from their garage or middle-aged men working on their cars. It was simply as if life on Privet Drive had ceased to a halt.

There were a couple cases on Privet Drive that hadn't quite stopped with the rest of the town. On the porch of Number 9 Privet Drive was a small black-haired child with dark skin who couldn't have been older than seven. Her hands clutched in her hair so that her elbows stuck out in front of her face. Her eyes were clenched tight and she bit down on her lower lip as she tried to cry as silently as possible while she rocked back and forth.

On the driveway of Number 14 Privet Drive was a sandy-haired boy of about thirteen who hesitantly held an axe awkwardly in his hands. He kept glancing behind him as if someone was following. His pale hands trembled and kept trying to square his shoulders to look more confident but he was failing quite miserably until he turned towards the driveway next door. He caught the glance of a slightly older black-haired girl. She walked quite slow and with a tight grip on a plain black cane. Her other hand gripped a large knife just as fiercely as her cane, if not more so. When the two met eyes they were both visibly relieved even though they had both left their homes in the middle of the night after stealing cutlery and garden tools. They quickly darted to each other and whispered fiercely to each other while looking up and down Privet Drive. A small argument broke out when they saw that the only other person outside of Privet Drive was the small crying girl. Finally they seemed to come to some agreement and walked across the street to the little girl. A half hour later the older children had convinced the younger child to leave the comfort of her porch and join their group.

As the three walked carefully out of Privet Drive, they all kept checking behind them, worried that they might have just made one of the biggest mistakes of their lives. Little did they realize that Privet Drive was not the only small town in which strange things were beginning to stir. Once the odd group had left, Privet Drive had become even more hushed. No one else stirred on the outside but it was a different story on the inside of Number Four Privet Drive.

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><p>Locked in Dudley's second bedroom, Harry Potter jiggled his leg nervously. He leaned back on the mattress and tried to keep an ear out for any unplaced sounds. So far, there weren't any sounds apart from Dudley's interspersed snores. Oddly, he felt somewhat less alone knowing that his cousin was quite literally sleeping against his bedroom door. It was a peculiar feeling and he wondered if Ron could describe what exactly that feeling was. It was almost a strange sort of warmth that bordered on gratefulness. Harry tried to shrug the feeling off, figuring that he should probably be a lot more worried about the fact that his cousin was sleeping against his door out of fright rather than to mock him for not having birthday cake. Speaking of birthday cake, Harry looked at his clock and realized it was already 12:30AM. Usually the owls for his birthday showed up precisely at midnight. For any normal teenager this would not have been a cause for concern, but between Voldemort and Dudley's strange behavior, Harry didn't feel like shrugging this off as coincidence.<p>

Harry stood up and began to pace. Uncle Vernon had been more paranoid than usual this summer. Right upon his return from his fifth year of school, his uncle had locked his trunk in his cupboard and led him right up to his bedroom where he had once again refitted the bars back around his windows. Luckily, Hedwig was able to squeeze in and out with letters. Harry also learned that his uncle had changed all the locks in the house and added twice the amount on his door. Up until his birthday, Harry hadn't been locked in as much as he expected. The Dursleys reveled in having him do all the gardening, cooking, cleaning, and whatever else they were too lazy to do which didn't leave him much time to be locked in his room. However, after having not been let out to eat even the smallest slice of stale bread or use the loo in almost twenty-four hours, Harry was starting to feel the slightest bit trapped. Scratch that. He _was_ trapped in every sense of the word.

A snore halted from his door and Harry heard Dudley shift positions from his spot. Harry walked over to his window and grabbed a bar, shaking it unsuccessfully. He looked outside. Privet Drive definitely felt ominous. The hot summer air felt heavy and he watched a strange group of people hurriedly leaving Privet Drive. One had an axe and for the first time since Dudley started complaining outside his door, Harry realized that whatever was going on might not have anything to do with Voldemort. He hoped that that was a good thing.

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><p>Dudley kept bolting awake in the middle of the night. His heart kept thudding in his chest while he was awake and Dudley wasn't convinced that it stopped its heavy knocking even when he went to sleep. He fell into one of the strangest routines he ever had for sleeping through the night. He would sleep for about an hour, bolt awake, then strain his ears for any tell-tale sound, work out the crick in his neck, and then lean back on his cousin's locked door to fall into a tense sleep.<p>

It was the longest night of "sleep" he had ever had. When he woke in the morning his rear was unbelievably sore and there were pins and needles in both of his feet. A headache had started coming on from the crick in his neck and his palms were sweaty and picking up dust and dirt from the floor. Why did his cousin have to be so dirty? Every place in the house was kept immaculate, why his cousin couldn't keep himself clean, Dudley never knew. He rubbed at his eyes with his dusty hand and wrinkled his nose as the dust aggravated his sinuses.

Dudley leaned his ear against the door trying to hear if Harry was awake. Although early morning light had started to stream underneath the door crack and between the edges of the cat flap, Dudley couldn't hear a sound from his cousin's room.

"Harry," he whispered softly.

There was no response.

Dudley took a deep breath and slowly clambered to his feet. He clutched at the door frame for a combination of both physical and moral support. There was something strange going on. There was something not very right and he couldn't help his cousin. His father had the keys stored away somewhere. Even his mother didn't know where he kept the keys.

As quietly as he could, he tip-toed over to his parent's room. Peering inside he saw that the bed was still made and everything in the room was as immaculate as could be. His parents had never even come up the stairs. Feeling quite foolish, Dudley also checked Aunt Marge's guest bedroom. It took every ounce of self-control to keep from checking under the beds. He was seventeen, not five. There wouldn't be monsters in the bed.

_But they might be in the kitchen_ his mind supplied unhelpfully. Dudley gulped and quickly closed the door. He checked his room quickly and it was just as he left it. Turning towards the stairs, he looked down them uncertainly. A flight of stairs had never seemed so foreboding. He grabbed the handrail and started walking as slowly as he could down the stairs. Perhaps yesterday had just been a fluke. Perhaps it was all just a very strange dream. He would go down stairs and his father would be reading the paper, his mother drinking her tea, and Harry would be cooking bacon in the kitchen.

But while Dudley knew he wasn't the smartest person in Surrey, he also knew he wasn't entirely stupid. There were still no sounds coming from downstairs and it felt as unbearable and frightening as it did yesterday. As he reached the last step and saw into the living room he gasped.

In the same spot as yesterday sat his father. He definitely wasn't as still as he was. His father kept putting his now empty beer to his lips as if he was drinking and then putting it back down on the coffee table beside him. His entire face kept twitching from his ears to his nose. It was his skin that really did it. His father's skin had turned a sickly gray with a tint of green. Every time his face twitched, he bared rotting teeth. On his arm, there was a circular bite mark. How Dudley had missed it before he didn't know.

Suddenly, his father seemed to take note of him. His eyes gleamed with recognition and something else that Dudley couldn't identify. His father began to slowly lean forward.

Every instinct Dudley had screamed at him to run. The hair on his arms raised. A tingling sensation went through his spine. His mouth had lost all moisture.

"Dad?" He whispered the question frightfully.

His father cocked his head to the side and stared at him curiously.

He should run. He should run like hell and never look back. This didn't even seem like magic.

"Dad, where's Mum?" he asked hesitantly.

There was a creaking sound from his right and Dudley turned to see his mother, her chopping knife still grasped in her hand. She looked extraordinarily similar to his father, except her skin had turned more green than gray and she seemed more..._rotted_.

And she was coming for him. Step. By. Step.

"Mum," he croaked. "Please," he began. But he didn't know what to say. He didn't know if there was anything to say. He didn't know if anything would be understood. He didn't understand this situation at all.

His mother took another two steps closer.

His father drew himself up from the chair. If the two weren't _rotting_ Dudley would've found how slow they were going to be unbelievably hilarious. As it was, this was a nightmare. A real live nightmare. For the first time in his life he'd rather have a pigtail or a giant tongue. Heck, he'd live in Harry's cupboard if it meant that his parents would go back to normal.

His father took an unsteady step towards him. Dudley shook his head in disbelief.

_RUN!_ his instincts screamed.

And run he did. He ran to the door, took one last look at his parents and ran outside.

As it was, there didn't seem to be a soul outside on Privet Drive. He looked both ways down the empty street, just missing a man clothed all in black who appeared from out of nowhere. He looked towards Piers' house across the street. The second floor light was on. Maybe Piers would know something. He was always the sly one in the gang. He was even the one who had the lock picking kit.

_Locks._ It niggled at his brain. Why was that important?_ Harry!_ he remembered. What could he do? He could get Piers to break his cousin out and his cousin could wave his freaky stick and fix everything. Or…Or him and Piers could leave him and get the hell out of Surrey. Really, his cousin had been locked up for far longer than a day before and without food. His freak school wouldn't just leave him either. And even if they did, what did it matter? Harry was just a freak, a waste of space. He should just leave him and be done with it.

Dudley slowly came to the realization that he had stopped in the middle of the road. There weren't any cars so it really didn't matter. His mum's lectures about street safety filled his head and Dudley winced. He finished crossing the street and headed to Piers house. He pulled a stone frog out of the bushes and found the key to Piers' house. Dudley didn't want to risk announcing his presence in the house. The door opened with a loud creak and Dudley clenched his jaw nervously. A foul smell emanated from the kitchen. Dudley quickly went up the stairs to where he knew Piers' room was.

He pushed open Piers' almost closed door to see Piers standing on his bed with a wooden baseball bat in his hands ready to swing. Immediately, Dudley held up his hands.

"Big D!" Piers said, obviously relieved. "Oh man, am I glad to see you. This has been one crazy night." Piers eyes were wide and bright, with thick black bags beneath them. He seemed even lankier than usual and had a stringy quality to him.

"What the _hell_ is going on, Piers?" Dudley asked frantically, stepping into the room.

Piers lightly hopped off the bed, his bat still in hand, and closed the door behind Dudley.

"Zombies," Piers said simply.

"What?" Dudley asked incredulously, already knowing that that explanation made as much sense as anything else.

"All those movies we've watched, Dud. All those movies about zombies. It's like we're in a zombie movie. My parents have all the symptom. The rotting flesh, the gray-green skin. And they all have bite marks as if they've been infected. What else could it be?"

Magic, Dudley almost said, but he closed his mouth before that statement could make it through.

"We need to get out of here," said Piers.

Dudley nodded dully. Now that he had met up with Piers all plans of running just seemed ludicrous. The entire scenario seemed ludicrous. And for the first time, Dudley felt almost trapped. He was trapped out of his own house. With a strange twisting in his stomach Dudley wondered for the first time in his life how Harry felt trapped.

Dudley took a shuddering breath.

"What?" Piers asked.

"My cousin," he said.

"What about him?" Piers asked.

"He's trapped. Locked in."

Piers laughed.

"It's not funny," Dudley said. For some reason the words tasted foreign in his mouth.

Piers gave him an odd look.

Dudley sighed. "Look, we need him. He can help us, we just need to break him out which means we need your lock picking kit and all those tools you use for destroying things."

"I guess a St. Brutus kid would be a help. But he never acts like a St. Brutus kid so I don't see him being much help. He'll more likely slow us down," Piers said pointedly.

"He's family. Whether I like it or not," Dudley answered. Was someone else doing the talking for him? Surely, he would have jumped at the chance to ditch Harry in a horrible situation.

"Fine. But if he slows us down I'm tripping him," Piers said.

"Fair enough," Dudley replied.

"Now, let's talk weapons and strategies."

Dudley grinned. There was always a reason he liked Piers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warnings:** canon Dursley abuse, character death  
><strong>AN:** I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. Some characters were being a bit difficult. ;) Also, I've taken some liberties with the layout of Privet Drive and Surrey.

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><p><strong>Harry Potter and the Zombie Apocalypse<br>Chapter Three**

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><p>Severus Snape stood at the edge of a street, scowling at the 'Welcome to Privet Drive' sign that was in front of another road sign, 'Privet Drive'. What a redundant sign. There was a foreboding feeling that either came from the rigid middle-class structure or the barely dawning sky that blanketed the street with an eerie grey mist. Or perhaps, and more likely, the foreboding feeling came from what had happened the day previously. After all, it wasn't as if Death Eater meetings came to a close because of a muggle zombie disease. The last he had seen of the Dark Lord was him screaming as Lucius Malfoy bit his arm.<p>

If the Dark Lord hadn't been made immortal, then Severus could have kept the pleasing mental picture in his mind for a very long time. As it was, by this time, the contagion would be in full-effect. Of course, now that Severus Snape was no longer a spy, Dumbledore had sent him to Privet Drive, stating that the wards were acting peculiar around Potter's house and that he was to check on Potter.

A slight, rolling breeze brought a foul stench to Severus' nose. He froze. It was the same stench that penetrated the Death Eater meeting. He quickly scanned the area and saw a blond boy frozen in the middle of the street. Severus began to stride toward the boy, hoping for even the slightest bit of reaction. The contagion began slowly, from a bite, most often to the arm, that would start slowing down the systems in the body until they were all borderline 'dead'. During that time, the person would continue with their life as normal, albeit quite slowly. Once the contagion took place, there would be a time period where the person was trapped in whatever movement they were in and it would become repetitive. From what Severus had observed from the Death Eaters was that the time period was different for everyone. Some became hungry within seconds whereas it took others hours.

The blond boy seemed to come to his senses and walked over to another house where he stole a key from the bushes and let himself in. The boy hadn't been touched; he moved too quickly. The boy, however, was not very observant as he hadn't even noted Severus' quick and silent steps. His robes billowed behind him. Remembering suddenly, Severus took out his wand and quickly transfigured his robes into a dark muggle outfit and headed to Number Four, Privet Drive.

Or at least, he tried to. He looked at the number of the house closest to him on his right. Twenty-three. He looked at the house across the street. Number Six. And yet, four was not next to Number Six on either side. He huffed in irritation. The bloody muggles could never number anything properly. Looking around, he realized that Privet Drive wasn't just one street. It was a maze of streets, where every house looked almost exactly the same, with manicured lawns, green bushes, and white porches. Perhaps Potter's house was down a different street. What he wouldn't give for a map.

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><p>Not for the first time, Dudley was pondering leaving Harry behind. Sure, Harry was his cousin, he was family. But really, he was trapped in his own bedroom and they certainly couldn't get to Harry through the doorway, as that would require going back into the house.<p>

"They're still inside your house, Dud," Piers said, peering out his bedroom window.

"That's good," Dudley said dully.

"Good for us," Piers said with a humorous glint in his eyes.

Dudley frowned. Piers seemed positively…_excited_ about all this. The lock kit and a saw sat on the floor in the middle of the room. Piers kept carelessly twirling the bat in his hand as if he couldn't wait to use it.

"Now, did you find that book?"

"What book?" Dudley asked.

"The one that's in your hand. God, Dud, sometimes you're as thick as a rock."

Dudley realized that his hands were grasping a book with a white cover. When did he get that? "Oh," he said stupidly.

Piers came over and wrenched the book from his hands with a cheeky grin. "How to Survive the Zombie Apocalypse," he said, reading off the title. "You can't kill a zombie, because they're already dead—"

"Dead?" Dudley interrupted, as a cold numbness seemed to swirl in his stomach.

"Yeah, dead. As in dead and gone, except zombies aren't gone. So the only way to stop them is to either hack them into as many pieces as possible or burn them to ash."

"Pieces?"

"Yeah. Pieces." Piers frowned. "You okay, Dud? You've gone positively white."

Dudley nodded slowly. "I'm good." He took a calming breath. Air felt really good. "So if we can't get in the house, how do we get Harry out?"

"First, we'll have to make sure that your parents are kept busy somewhere else. As for getting to Potter…Do you have a ladder? My parents haven't bought a new ladder since I destroyed the last one."

"We have one in the shed," Dudley said.

"Good, now here's the plan." The two leaned into each other so close that their heads were nearly touching as Piers excitedly explained the plan to Dudley.

* * *

><p>It was the fourth street that Severus had gone down in his search for Potter's house and he only seemed to be getting further away in his attempt to find Number Four. The boy had better be on the brink of death when he finally found the house or he would unleash years worth of ire onto the boy. And then, when he found the boy, he was going to have a long chat with the blasted Headmaster and inform him that next time, he had better be given a map.<p>

_Next time?_ There would be no bloody next time. The stupid streets were messing with his head. He couldn't think clearly in this middle-class monstrosity. He would find the boy, make sure everything was alright, and then go have his first day off in almost twenty years. No Death Eaters, no potions classes, no Dumbledore, and most importantly, no Potter. His head seem to clear at the thought and while the foul stench didn't disappear, it seemed to lessen for just a moment. With a clear head, Severus realized his wand was held loosely in his hand. That was certainly rather out of character for him. Severus sneered to himself. He was not a common muggle. He whispered a "Point me, Potter" and groaned when he realized in his murky thoughts he had succeeded in only getting further from Potter's house. His instincts screamed at him to quicken his steps, but his irritation with Potter kept him from doing so. How much trouble could Potter really get into before dawn?

His steps quickened.

When he finally reached the street, he saw Potter mid-jump out of a second-story window. He sighed. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

><p>A loud creak reverberated through Piers house. Dudley froze, his body just barely trembling. Piers didn't so much freeze, as just stop, with his holders hunched, chin to his chest, and his eyes slitted.<p>

"Showtime, Big D," Piers said, slapping Dudley on the back.

Dudley nodded slowly. "O-okay," he stammered.

"Perk up, Big D. This is going to be awesome."

Piers handed the bat to Dudley and picked up the saw, the lock-picking kit, and a can of gasoline. "Oh, grab that box of matches on the bookshelf, will you?"

Dudley numbly grabbed the small box of matches. The carton nearly slipped out of his sweaty fingers but he caught them, crushing the box between his clenched fingers.

"What are these for again?" he asked. He knew he sounded stupid, but all of a sudden, he couldn't seem to remember the plan that Piers had spent the last hour outlining.

"Dud!" Piers shouted in a whisper, obviously annoyed. "Look, just do what you're best at; smash your way through everything. I'll take care of the rest."

Another creak reverberated ominously through the house.

"They're coming," Piers said. "It's time." He uncapped the can of gasoline. Dudley swallowed heavily.

Piers crept slowly to the door and opened it just far enough for him to stick his head out and peer around the corner. He turned back to Dudley who saw a look he had never seen before in Piers eyes. In all of his life, Dudley had never known Piers to be afraid of anything. But quick as a flash, the look of fear was replaced by Piers' usual enthrallment with all things dangerous.

"You'll have to go first, Big D," he said with a wink.

"Why me?"

"Because they're coming up the stairs and you're the brute."

"Oh," Dudley said. He shifted his grip on the bat.

Another creak filled the house and Dudley could hear the brush of flesh against a wooden railing.

Time to be strong. Time to be the brute. It was, after all, what he was good at.

Dudley quashed the part in him that said that he didn't always want to be the brute.

* * *

><p>Harry paced his room. The room was as much of a disaster as it could possibly be. Dudley's broken toys lay scattered on the floor, some in more pieces than when Dudley had shoved them. The loose floorboard had been ripped up entirely and thrown to the other side of his bed revealing nothing but his photo album. For a moment, Harry had been angry at himself for only being able to smuggle his photo album, but not his wand or invisibility cloak, upstairs. But the picture on the front of the cover of his parents smiling and waving at him made the anger dissipate. Somewhat.<p>

He tried to find anything that would work as a weapon, but the closest he had been able to find was Dudley's bent old air rifle. He supposed he could try and smash it against Uncle Vernon's head but while his uncle had never _really_ hit him, at least, not enough to matter, Harry had no doubts that if he didn't succeed in knocking out Vernon on his first try, that would certainly not stay true for long. There was a reason he always tried to stay an arm's reach away from his uncle.

Harry angrily kicked the wall. He hated being trapped. He hated being stuck like this. What if it really was Voldemort? Or what if it wasn't? He couldn't use magic; he didn't have a wand. He couldn't hide; he didn't have his cloak, and he doubted that hiding under the bed would do the trick. He couldn't fight back physically; that had never really been his forte. If he could just get out, he could run. He heard Snape's drawling and sneering voice in his head, _the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Run. Not such a Gryffindor, are you?_

Harry angrily kicked the wall. The wall _shuddered_. Harry cursed under his breath. Now was not a time for accidental magic; he did not want to be expelled.

Harry froze as he heard a heavy thud coming from the stairs. And then another. And another. They were quickly followed by lighter thuds. Harry swore under his breath. His aunt and uncle were coming for him. It had never boded well before, but this time, it bore something hugely sinister. Backing up slowly, Harry went back to the window and turned around. He yanked on the bars fruitlessly, begging the iron to somehow break beneath his hands.

He felt part of the bars crumble beneath his fingers but he dropped his grip on the bars when he heard the locks slowly clicking back.

One lock clicked back. Harry looked outside through the bars. There was no one in sight.

A second lock clicked. Harry slowly turned his head to the door. What _was_ going on? His hands dropped to his side as turned the rest of his body toward the door. He had to know.

The third lock clicked. He took a hesitant step toward the door.

The fourth lock clicked. What was he doing? He needed to _get out_. Harry rushed hurriedly back to the window, but the bars were as solid as ever. He must have only imagined them beginning to crumble. Was that Piers house on fire? And was that Piers and Dudley running out of the house together?

The last three locks clicked back. Harry gritted his teeth and turned around to face his aunt and uncle.

* * *

><p>Trying not to look, Dudley swung the bat at Mrs. Polkiss. He tried not to think. He was supposed to be good at not thinking. Everyone always talked about how dumb he was. If he was so dumb, then why couldn't he stop thinking about Mrs. Polkiss always invited him inside for tea and biscuits? She made the most delicious biscuits. And when he had sleepovers with Piers, she had always checked on them to ask if they were okay and if there was anything they needed.<p>

And how was Dudley repaying her? By leaving her rotted body on the floor. The crack of the metal against her skull kept replaying in his head. Did he kill her? She wasn't moving.

"Dudley! Come on! Leave her, we have to go now!"

Dudley turned slowly to Piers who was just finishing up spreading gasoline through the house.

"What are you doing?"

Piers looked incredulously at him.

Did he forget? Did Piers explain this part of the plan?

"Never mind that, get out the house. We got to get your freak cousin."

Dudley looked at the two bodies on the floor and he breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that they were beginning to move. Piers didn't seem as relieved.

"Now, Dudley!"

Dudley clambered away as best he could. He focused on his own house. He had to get his cousin out. Behind him, Piers lit three matches and tossed them into the house. At the smell of smoke, Dudley turned around to see Piers grinning maniacally, his white teeth gleaming and his eyes alight from the flickering flames.

An inhuman shriek sliced through the air. Piers smile faltered for the slightest second but it was quickly replaced at the sound of the second shriek that split the area.

Dudley's stomach roiled uncomfortably.

He tried not to think of tea and biscuits. He tried not to think that instead of rescuing Mrs. Polkiss, he's rescuing his freak cousin instead. He tried not to think that he was rescuing his cousin from ihis/i parents.

He drew in a gasping breath. Don't think. Just act. He needed to find a ladder. His voice yelled at Piers to come. It didn't seem anything like him. His legs moved but he couldn't feel them. His heart pounded, but his chest felt distant. He saw Harry at the window, tugging on the bars, but it didn't register. He crunched through the grass and into the backyard. Before he even knew it, he had a ladder in his hands and was dragging it back to the front of the yard. He saw Piers backing out the front door of his house and pouring the gasoline everywhere.

Dudley finished leaning the ramp against Harry's bedroom window. Under different circumstances, Dudley would have taken much joy in making fun of his cousin's shocked face. Dudley saw Harry open his mouth to shout something out the window, but Dudley saw him whirl around.

And that was when Dudley knew.

"Piers!" Dudley yelled. "They're going into his room!"

Quick as a flash, Piers handed Dudley back the matches and his skinny body ran up the ladder with the lock-picking kit and the saw. Dudley saw Piers fiddle with the kit for a moment before quickly tossing it to the ground. Dudley heard Harry's angry voice fighting with Piers' irritated voice, but it was too far away to make out the conversation. The argument died out when Piers held up the saw.

Dudley watched Piers cut away the bars with ease, but Harry didn't come out of the window. Instead, he saw Piers start to crawl _inside_ and it seemed as if he was almost half-pulled through the window. His foot latched onto a rung of the ladder, but his body was shaken and the ladder fell to the ground. Dudley stared blankly at the house before backing away slowly. He wondered if he could run. If he _should_ run.

Whole minutes ticked by as Dudley stood in the driveway in front of his father's company car. There was a company picnic and barbeque today. His mum was going to make potato salad. Or at least have Harry make it.

Piers dashed out of the front door. Again. While Harry stood at the open window and decided to make a jump for it.

Piers grabbed the box of matches from Dudley's limp hands and struck an entire handful and threw them into his house.

"What are you doing?" Dudley shouted. "THOSE ARE MY PARENTS!"

Piers didn't respond. He seemed to be slowing down. He wasn't moving away from the fire. The maniacal grin was frozen on his face, but his eyes seemed dead. The flames licked his back.

"PIERS! MOVE!"

Was that really his voice?

There was a vivid and bloody bite mark on Piers' arm.

"MOVE!"

The inhuman shrieks filled Dudley's burning house. Dudley watched in horror as the flames wrapped around Piers. He looked like a skinny pillar of flame. Dudley recalled some bible story about pillars of flame. Piers shrieked.

"PIERS!"

"PIERS!"

"PIERS!"

He kept shouting Piers' name as his body writhed in the flames and slowly turned to ash. There was a gritty texture in his mouth and his eyes burned from the smoke. He didn't have the presence of mind to note that his cousin was floating softly to the ground or to see an angry black-clad figure approaching the burning house.

His screaming turned to whimpers as a bony arm linked through his arm and dragged him away and into the middle of the street. Dudley collapsed on the ground. His mum would be so mad at him for hanging out in the middle of the street. She would be so mad to know that there was a threatening wizard with a hooked nose, performing magic on their precious home.

_Mum_.

Dudley couldn't think so he looked at Harry. It looked like Harry didn't know what to think either.


	4. Chapter 4

**Harry Potter and the Zombie Apocalypse  
><strong>

**Chapter Four**

* * *

><p>o0o<p>

* * *

><p>Harry and Dudley sat on the street for what seemed like ages. But in reality it was only a couple of minutes.<p>

"Whose that?" Dudley asked dully, as he watched the strange man in black shoot off spells at the house.

Not moving from his spot on the street next to Dudley, Harry answered, "Snape."

"He's one of yours then?"

There was no bitterness in Dudley's voice, just an eerie sort of calm acceptance about the situation. Harry didn't like it. He'd rather have Dudley carrying on and fussing like usual. Accepting freakishness as perfectly normal…that just didn't fit and was uncomfortably driving the point right into his gut. Nothing would ever be normal again.

"Yeah," Harry said, though he knew Snape would certainly not appreciate being called one of ihis/i. "He's one of mine." He paused for a moment. "At least I hope so," he added under his breath.

"Should you be helping him?"

Harry stared at the black plumes of smoke billowing from the house. "Probably," he answered.

There was a long, drawn out silence.

"So why aren't you?" Dudley finally asked.

Harry shrugged.

"Where's your wand?"

Harry lifted an eyebrow and pointed to the house. The last of the flames were being put out and Snape was stalking around the property, pointing his wand at the house and muttering spells beneath his breath.

"Oh. Right. I forgot."

Harry shrugged again.

Dudley bit his lip. "Are they," he began hesitantly. "Are they, I mean, do you think?" He trailed off, looked at his shoes, and then the house before turning back to his cousin.

Dudley could have gone the rest of his life without seeing the look Harry had given him.

"There's no way they could have?" Dudley pleaded.

"I don't think so, Dud," Harry said softly.

Silence again.

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

"You hated them," Dudley said.

Harry looked uncomfortable and confused. "They hated me," he answered.

And Dudley couldn't find it in himself to disagree.

* * *

><p>o0o<p>

* * *

><p>Severus breathed a sigh of relief as he finished. The smoke was beginning to disperse and the house would hold up for a good long time. With the boy's cousin still alive, it would help to keep the house intact. It wasn't the most structurally sound, but he was about eighty-five percent certain it would hold for some time.<p>

He turned around only to see the two boys sitting in the middle of the street staring numbly at the house. Every so often their lips barely moved. It was clear from where he was standing, that Potter's cousin didn't like whatever Potter said.

Severus looked around the street. He noted that in a couple of houses, the doors were slowly beginning to open. At least the creatures were easy to run from; something the Dark Lord didn't figure out until it was too late.

He stalked his way over to Potter and the other boy. "Potter!" he spat.

The boy jerked as if he had physically hit him. Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Get up!" he snapped. "We don't have time to waste playing in the street. Pick up your cousin."

The boy moved as if he was on automatic and did everything his professor ordered.

If this was what it took to get Potter to follow orders he would have…Severus quickly abandoned that train of thought. Even he wasn't that cruel. Not that the idiot boy believed that.

"Hurry up," he hissed when he saw that Potter was having trouble getting his cousin off the ground.

The boy finally opened his mouth for a retort but shut it when Severus glared at him.

"Dudley c'mon, we got to go," the boy said to his cousin.

"But we can't leave them," Potter's cousin said.

Potter closed his eyes with a wince and exhaled loudly. "Dudley," he began.

"Get up you idiot boy. Your parents are dead and sitting in the middle of the street waiting for the same fate is a poor way to go."

The boy, Dudley, burst into tears.

In retrospect, that had probably not been the best way to phrase it. Potter glared at him.

"You're such an—"

"Don't even think of finishing that sentence, Potter."

Potter's mouth clicked shut.

"Get your cousin. You two may be content to die like them, but I refuse to let you two imbeciles drag me down with you."

Potter's eyes flashed but he persuaded his cousin up, regardless.

There was a deep guttural moan that reverberated down the street. Severus snapped his head around and was quick to note that Potter had done the same. Well, at least he wasn't completely imbecilic.

The good thing about zombies was that they weren't very fast. The bad thing about zombies was that they were highly contagious. And they liked to travel in groups. And there was a very large group forming down the street.

Potter shifted nervously next to him.

"Er…Sn—Professor," he corrected at Severus' glare, "are we going to Hogwarts now?" he asked looking at his cousin curiously.

Severus resisted the urge to run his hand through his hair in frustration. Instead, he took a deep breath. He could very well take Potter to Hogwarts, but his cousin wouldn't be able to come.

"You're cousin's still muggle, I assume," he said.

Potter's face flushed.

"Do you think it would be a terrific idea to leave your grieving cousin for the infected muggles? Even you cannot be that cruel."

"I was just asking," the boy muttered.

Severus raised an eyebrow but didn't comment further. He needed to come up with a plan.

Dudley's mouth tasted like ash. His fingers gripped the How to Survive a Zombie Apocalypse book. He could hear people talking, himself included. He felt Harry try and pick up. By the second time, Dudley actually started trying to get up as well.

His body felt like lead and for a moment he was worried that he had caught the infection. But he would know if he had become a zombie, wouldn't he? While Harry and the…Snape looked down the street, he hurriedly checked himself over for injuries. He exhaled a breath of relief when he didn't see or feel anything.

"What's the plan?" he asked dully.

The two whirled back around with identical expressions of shock on their faces. Dudley pointed at the gathering crowd of zombies down the street.

"We get out of here," Snape said simply.

"No shit," Dudley said.

Harry's mouth dropped as he looked from Snape to Dudley and back again.

"Language, Mr. Dursley," Snape said. "We'll figure out the rest on the way."

_Figure out?_ Dudley saw Harry mouth.

"You mean there's no plan?" Dudley asked incredulously. "At least Piers had a plan!"

"And we see how well that worked out."

Dudley cringed.

The man began stalking down the street with his robes billowing behind him. Harry and Dudley hurried to follow.

As they walked through the twists and turns of Privet Drive and passed through Wisteria Walk, Dudley could hear the man's huffs and puffs and see the constant glares that he gave Harry. Dudley wasn't certain that he was faring much better in the man's opinion, but the growl in the man's voice whenever he insulted them was far more snarly when directed at his cousin.

"Jeez Harry," Dudley began, after they took yet another perplexing turn onto a different street. "He hates you more than Dad." And then Dudley stopped talking.

Harry just looked uncomfortable.

The Snape man's fists clenched and unclenched as Dudley heard him take another huffing breath.

"What," snapped the man before pausing.

"What?" Dudley asked. He was tired, hungry, his feet hurt, and his head was swimming from all the turns. Why on earth they kept going in some ridiculous zig-zag pattern, he had no idea.

The glare he got was more similar to the one he had been giving Harry.

Dudley gulped.

"_What_," he hissed, "did you all think you were doing? Playing hero, again? That didn't work out so well last year, so you thought you'd try again?" Snape directed the last part to Harry.

Dudley felt as if he was missing a huge chunk of information, especially when his cousin had the same expression on his face whenever his parents had talked about his. Harry shuttered his expression and looked down at his shoes.

"Hey!" Dudley said, shocking himself.

"Of course, everyone stands up for Saint Potter," Snape growled.

"It wasn't his fault!" Dudley exclaimed.

"It most certainly was."

"He couldn't help that he was locked in! Piers," Dudley's breath hitched, "Piers was the only one who could get him out."

The man was silent and Dudley tried to decipher the look on his face. He had a feeling that they were having two very different conversations, but Snape's expression was closed off.

The man took another turn down a different street. Harry and Dudley dutifully followed.

"Why, Mr. Potter, were you locked in your bedroom?"

Harry's face turned red and Dudley saw him fishing for a lie.

He thought that was strange. Why would he bother with a lie?

"I expect an answer, Mr. Potter."

Harry bit his lip and seemed to focus very hard on putting one foot in front of the other. He mumbled something unintelligible.

There was yet another huff from Snape. "Speak up, boy," he said, harshly.

Dudley winced.

"To protect me from Voldemort."

"Don't say the _name_," Snape hissed, gripping his left arm for a moment.

Dudley frowned.

"Whose Voldemort?"

"_Don't say the name._"

Dudley was surprised that the man could find an even meaner sound of hiss.

"Well, who is he?"

"You-Know-Who," the man said simply, as if that resolved it all.

Dudley shook his head. "No…I don't know who."

Harry bit his lip and Dudley quickly realized that he was trying to keep from laughing at him. Bloody git.

The man muttered something that sounded like "muggles" before turning and quickening his steps.

The next few minutes were agonizingly quiet. Dudley fervently wished that he was back home with the telly or his computer. He wanted everything to go back to normal again, where Harry would be locked in his room and he could taunt him for it, where his father raved about young hoodlums and motorcyclists and anyone abnormal. He wanted his mother clucking around him, trying to squeeze him to death.

And while it was small, Piers book weighed heavily in his hand. So far they had avoided any more zombies, but in all the movies it was only a matter of time before they would be accosted by another and one of their group would be picked off.

And so, when Dudley was trying to figure out his likelihood of being the first to die (he rather hoped it would be the Snape man, he was _scary_), a big, giant red bird appeared in a blaze. Dudley yelped, his mouth dropped open, and he resisted the urge to place his hands protectively over his bum.

The bird dropped a small white note into Snape's hand and trilled at his cousin. It sounded almost happy. Except for the whole fact that birds couldn't sound happy. They were just birds.

Of course, this one did just pop up on fire.

And as soon as the bird appeared, it disappeared in another blaze of fire.

Dudley watched the man unfold the note and saw his jaw tighten.

"We need to keep going," was all the man said and Harry looked worriedly at Dudley which didn't serve to calm him one bit.

"But we've been going," Dudley whined. He knew he was being childish, but he couldn't help it.

"By all means, stay here and laze about. I'm sure you and Potter are quite good at that. Just don't come running to me when you get bitten."

Through the sarcasm and irritability, Dudley supposed that he had a point.

* * *

><p>o0o<p>

* * *

><p>The bloody idiot. He was trapped taking care of two extremely incompetent children in the <em>muggle<em> world. At the rate they were going, he was almost surprised that he didn't have to tie their shoes. Actually, he was quite surprised that he didn't have tie Potter's shoes. The amount of times he had come into class with an untied shoe was astonishing. Careless, lazy boy.

He had crumpled the note in his pocket. But the weight of it felt unbearably heavy.

_S,_

_Stay in the muggle world. It is imperative. _

_A.D. _

Questions rolled around in his head and each new answer he could come up with seemed worse than the last.

* * *

><p>tbc<p> 


End file.
